


You were my home

by AutumnHobbit



Series: I'm in paradise with Dad [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, Brothers, Child Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, father-son feels, well...Hurt/sorta Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9631820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: "C'mon, Bruce." He pleaded. "Talk. Don't turn your back on me. I'm here, now." A little voice in the back of his head hissedI was always here if you'd wanted me, but it was like I didn't even exist anymore once Jason was here."You were lucky." Bruce said lowly, almost to himself, without looking back at him. Dick blinked in confusion, and was seconds from asking him what he was talking about when Bruce started removing the cowl."When you didn't listen to me, your injuries weren't fatal."___________Follow-up to my fic,I'm in paradise with Dad.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I will warn you guys that I have written a very Mean Thing™ here. 
> 
> So. You know that scene in New Titans Vol. 1 #55? Where Bruce and Dick have a shouting match post-Jason's death? Well, here's how it would go in the aftermath of my fic, _I'm in paradise with Dad. ___
> 
> __  
> _And hoo boy, have I got doozy of a song for you with this one. Title's from Forest Fire by Brighton. If it's not a Bruce song, then I don't know what is, and I highly recommend you give it a listen. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBqzXYcSdns_  
> 

The Cave was cold and dark and empty when Dick limped in at one in the morning. Before everything fell apart with Bruce, he'd always felt at home in the Cave, and the stillness felt _wrong;_ even the bats seemed muffled and quiet, as if they sensed the storm brewing. Dick gulped as he limped over to one of the chairs and sat down, trying to keep his cool. He'd already lost it on Danny earlier, and he couldn't afford to lose it now. Not when he had to talk to Bruce, who couldn't possibly be taking this development well. 

As he waited, he scanned the Cave, taking in all the changes since he'd been the one in red and yellow, following after Bruce. New racks, new equipment. The staunchest addition was the tall glass case, surrounding a uniform. Dick kind of wanted to be sick when he saw it, and looking closer and seeing the stitched-up tears in the uniform didn't help at all. He quickly looked away. 

His eyes burned, and he leaned down and pressed his hand to his face, breathing shakily and trying to hold himself together. He'd never really known Jason, had only hung out with him a couple times and, he'd admit it: he'd resented him for being shoved into his place right after he'd dared to disagree with Bruce. 

But holy hell, he was a _kid._ He didn't deserve this. He hadn't deserved any of it. 

And now he was dead. And Dick had no idea what had happened, or how. He hadn't even been at the funeral. Jason had been Robin, he'd accepted it as the way it was going to be, he'd tossed a card at the kid and told him to give him a call sometime. 

And now he was dead. And Dick was trying his damndest not to think of the surprise and stifled happiness in the big green eyes when he'd given Jason his number, how they boy had tried to brusquely play it off and act like he wasn't pleased. 

Dead.

_Little Wing._

The rumbling of a distant engine drew Dick from his reverie, and as he glanced up, throat feeling unbearably tight, the car came trailing in, dripping wet from the rain outside. Dick swallowed, trying to steel himself for whatever would come from this conversation.

The car lazily drew to a stop, and the engine hummed for a long moment before it was turned off. It was another long moment before the door opened, and Bruce climbed slowly out of the car. Dick eyed the man intently from up on the platform. His posture was hunched, his movements sluggish and methodical. He acted this way when he was really badly injured and trying to hide it, but even then, not to this degree. Dick remembered him looking less devastated when he'd been hiding a wound where a bullet had torn his kidney. And he hadn't even glanced up yet, though Dick suspected that Bruce already knew of his presence. He watched as Bruce locked the car listlessly, waited as his clanging steps climbed the metal staircase. When Bruce crested the steps, Dick unconsciously shrank back, finding himself unable to meet the glowing gaze. It seemed so _wrong_ to think of Bruce as intimidating; before he'd always felt safe at the sight of that hulking form like an avenging shadow, like everything would be alright now. Because Bruce was here, Bruce was strong and smart and brave. Bruce could do anything. But even practically-hunched over, Bruce was _big,_ and Dick found himself suddenly intimidated. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this was the effect Bruce usually had on criminals. 

But Bruce was his _dad_ \--well, no, maybe--just _his._ _He_ wasn't supposed to be afraid of him. He sat silently, eyes firmly on the floor as he tried not to let his nerves show.

"I didn't expect to see you again." Bruce said tonelessly, and Dick almost flinched. He hadn't exactly been expecting a warm welcome, and he supposed the tone was more of a lack of emotion than anger, but he couldn't help but feel like he'd just been slugged and his chest clenched and his heart pounded painfully against his ribs. He forced himself to open his mouth, steadied himself enough to speak. "I heard about Jason, I..." he gulped. "I'm really sorry, Bruce."

Silence. Dick wished it had been a startled silence, but it was just. Nothing.  

"You weren't at the funeral," Bruce said out of nowhere a long beat later, startling Dick out of his racing thoughts. "People asked about you."

Maybe Dick was going crazy, but that sounded pretty accusatory. The effect wasn't helped by Bruce immediately turning on his heel and going to one of the racks to remove his suit. Dick painfully climbed to his feet, hopping carefully to follow Bruce. "C'mon, Bruce." He pleaded. "Talk. Don't turn your back on me. I'm here, now." A little voice in the back of his head hissed _I was always here if you wanted me, but it was like I didn't even exist anymore once Jason was here._

"You were lucky." Bruce said lowly, almost to himself, without looking back at him. Dick blinked in confusion, and was seconds from asking him what he was talking about when Bruce started removing the cowl.

"When you didn't listen to me, your injuries weren't fatal." 

Dick couldn't help but immediately think of the visceral terror and adrenaline pounding in him as he tried vainly to get away from Two-Face, Harvey's insane cackle as the bat swung over and over and over and _over,_ and how after a while he couldn't even recognize the new pain because he was already drowning in it, and how it hurt to breathe, hurt to lie still, hurt to _be._ He closed his eyes tightly and tried to banish the images and the fear back to the corner of his mind where they stayed, only coming out in the most inconvenient times. "Bruce, c'mon, lay off," he begged, hating the crack in his voice, desperately trying to change the subject and salvage the interaction. "I'm not here to fight."

"Then _don't."_ Bruce said coldly, straightening from removing the cowl and still not turning to look at him.

Dick felt anger warring with hurt inside him. He was _trying_ to fix things, and Bruce couldn't even be bothered to talk to him? Had he really meant that _little_ to him? _Had they ever really been anything in the first place?_ "Are you blaming _me?"_ His voice rose, incredulous and quickly losing any calm. "I left, so Jason replaced me, and because of me he died?" His heart hammered. _Oh, God. Did he? Was this his fault?_

No. _No,_ it couldn't be. It _wasn't._ He had nothing to do with this. It was all Bruce, and why the hell wouldn't he admit it and just _turn around and look at him, already?_ "Jason wasn't me," he insisted fiercely. "I was a trained acrobat. I could think quickly in perilous situations. Why did you replace me if he wasn't ready? Why did you _let him_ become Robin before he--"

Bruce moved so fast that Dick had no time to dodge. He'd been still as a statue, and in less than a blink of an eye he'd spun and lunged, and before Dick knew what had happened he was on the floor, head spinning and jaw screaming in pain. 

"Don't you _dare_ blame me for Jason's death!" Bruce was _screaming._ His voice broke, and Dick found it hard to breathe. He had _never_ heard Bruce sound like this before. "Don't you _dare!"_

Dick pushed himself up on his elbow, faintly aware of the taste of blood in his mouth. He had a response on his lips--whether a reply or a wordless scream, he didn't know--but Bruce cut him off. 

"Why the hell did I think I needed a partner? They slow you down! They make you worry about them rather than doing your job! He wouldn't listen! He wanted to do everything _his_ way! He was--" Bruce choked. "He was _just like you!"_

Dick was frozen. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. He could only stare as Bruce ripped into him, feeling as though he was being dismantled from the inside out.

"Why are you even _pretending_ to be concerned about Jason!? You told me you resented the fact that I had adopted _him_ and not you!" 

Shock made Dick whip his head up, glance at Bruce's face for the first time since he'd been here. He nearly recoiled. Bruce had clearly not had the time to shave recently; his jaw was coated in thick, scruffy stubble. His eyes were red and wild with rage that Dick had only seen once in a great while, and he was drenched in sweat. He looked impossibly _older_ than he had the last time Dick had seen him, and that had only been a couple months ago. Dick realized that his mouth was hanging open, and he stammered. "What? _No!_ I--I only asked _why_ you adopted him, I never--!"

 _"I don't care!"_ Bruce nearly screamed again. "I don't want to go over this again. It was a mistake. All of this! I--I should _never_ have had a partner, and I--and _I never will again!"_

Bruce might as well have hit him in the ribs with a sledgehammer. Dick felt his vision fading at the edges, and he slumped back down against the floor in a stupor. He just stared, uncomprehending. He'd been hurt in his life before, but never, ever like this.

Bruce stood, his fists clenched and shaking at his sides. He took a step forward, crazed anger still burning in his eyes. Dick shrank back, crawled a few feet away, but couldn't bring himself to pull himself up and leave as he probably should have. His leg was not happy with his surprise date with the slick stone floor, he'd pulled something when he fell because a muscle in his thigh was aching, and his face was throbbing with burning pain. And he couldn't tear his eyes away from Bruce, the man who he'd once considered to be the father he could never have hoped for after his own dad died. 

Bruce seemed to falter at Dick's fear, and he took a staggering step back-- _Bruce_ never _staggered,_  ever--and dropped his fist belatedly, panting and staring right back at Dick. Not at his eyes, but at the blood trickling down his jaw. 

"I--" Bruce shook his head, looked at the floor, at the blood on Dick's face again, at the wall of the Cave. "I didn't--" 

He stumbled backwards again, and dropped onto the floor, himself. Dick felt a sudden terror seize hold of him-- _he'd acted like he was injured earlier, had he been hiding something this whole time?_ \--and quickly crawled forward, fear forgotten in the face of Bruce needing help. 

But when he was only a couple feet away, Bruce was clutching his knees to his chest with a locked grip, and when he glanced up at Dick there were tears glistening in his eyes.

"He--" Bruce rasped, hushed and more broken than Dick had ever heard him. "He died," Bruce whispered, like a confession. "He died in my arms. He--he was alive. And then he--"

Bruce's voice faltered, and he looked away, buried his face in his hands. A strangled, high sound escaped him, and a sob tore out of Dick in response. He couldn't help it. 

"He was buried, under a girder. His-his spine was broken. He wasn't-he wasn't moving his legs at _all._ He couldn't even move, he just...lay there, when I got there. He could barely talk, and he coughed up b-blood and _cried_ every time he tried--" Bruce was hiccuping, and Dick felt like he was going to throw up, lightheaded with horror. _Oh, Little Wing. I'm so sorry. I should have been there..._

"He--" Bruce gave a choked, hysterical laugh that was still wet with tears. "He apologized. To me. He--" Bruce clamped a hand over his mouth, and his shoulders seemed to crumple inwards as he doubled over, his whole body wracked with sobs. Dick crawled closer, reached out hesitantly and laid a shaking hand on Bruce's armored shoulder. 

"He said I was his _dad,"_ Bruce wailed quietly, and Dick leaned forward and wrapped the man in a desperate hug as he kept sobbing. "I didn't...I never..."

"He knew you meant it," Dick choked. "He knew, or he wouldn't have said." _I know it, too, Bruce. I know._

"He just--he just stopped moving and kind of sighed, and let his head tip back, a-and _he wasn't breathing_ and--" Bruce's arms were clamped tightly around Dick, now, so tight Dick could barely breathe, but he wasn't about to try and dislodge Bruce. "He died." Bruce sobbed again. "There--there was nothing..."

"It's not your fault, Bruce. It's _not."_ Dick breathed. 

"He...he said I was his _dad."_ Bruce was hyperventilating. "I was his _dad,_ and I couldn't--I let the Joker take him, he would have died from the beating _alone,_ and that _bastard_ \--I nearly lost _you_ to Dent and I let him put the suit on--"

"Bruce," Dick pleaded. 

"I-I killed him. I _killed_ him. I should _never_ have let him go out, I should never have pushed him away, I should never have taken him in in the first place--" 

"Bruce!" Dick grabbed the man's face, forced him to look up. "You did not kill Jason." He was almost shaking Bruce in his urgency. "You did not beat him, you did not kill him. You tried to save him."

Bruce met his gaze, seeming startled that Dick was so vehement. His jaw trembled. "But I didn't," he whispered, his voice hoarse and small. His face crumpled, and he suddenly looked oddly young, and Dick thought of the little boy who lost his parents and had no one but Alfred to help him make sense of it. His breaths were shaky and rapid. "J-Jason," he whispered, his voice hushed and breaking on the name. _"Jason."_

Dick knew that he probably looked just as terrible, tears streaking down his face and his hair askew, blood caked and drying on his face, his jaw swollen. "I know." He breathed in response, crying. Bruce reached up and pulled Dick back down into an embrace, but he held Dick's face to his chest, like he had when Dick was small and easily scared. "I'm sorry," Bruce gasped, almost an afterthought, but his tone was too self-hating and horrified for that. 

"I'm okay, Bruce," Dick assured him, his voice muffled. "I've taken harder punches before." That may have been a lie, but he wasn't about to tell Bruce that.

Bruce rested his chin on Dick's head, clutching him tightly, as if to reassure himself that Dick was there and alive. Dick let himself be practically crushed, while Bruce continued to cry into his hair, whispering Jason's name over and over and _over._

"What are we going to _do?"_ Bruce gasped a while later, and Dick closed his eyes as new tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn't know, either. 

He sat there for what felt like a time-warp while Bruce cried himself out, half-way holding on and just letting himself be held. At one point, he saw Alfred over Bruce's shoulder, and the sadness in the butler's eyes brought fresh tears to his own. Alfred held up a syringe with a question on his face, and Dick, as much as he was able, shook his head. With a muted nod, Alfred withdrew to leave the two to grieve.

As much as Bruce needed to get some rest, there would be time for that, later. Plenty of time, in fact. Time Jason would never get the chance to live through. But for now, drugs wouldn't fix this. 

Nothing could. 

**Author's Note:**

> ehe. ehe. sorry.
> 
> I'm on tumblr: http://autumnhobbit.tumblr.com/


End file.
